


don't you lift him; let him drown alive.

by thewriter8



Category: Johannes Cabal - Jonathan L. Howard
Genre: Southern Gothic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriter8/pseuds/thewriter8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a death, a drowning. She swept the land like the plague, decaying everything in sight, save for an estate on the outskirts. It remained lush, green, surrounded by moss-bearing trees and the sighs of breezes, paradise in a mourning land. And the people of that estate were grateful, surprised they had such an angel watching over them. And she made sure the Cabal brothers would thrive.<br/>At least, for the time being.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't you lift him; let him drown alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Do listen to 'Bottom of the River' by Delta Rae while you read. This fic is wholeheartedly based upon it (and it's just a spectacular song).

Some blame the heat of the valley. Others assume the land has always been barren. Those who have left, left it empty as a grave, know why it is dry and hellish and meant to stay that way.  
There was a death, a drowning. She swept the land like the plague, decaying everything in sight, save for an estate on the outskirts. It remained lush, green, surrounded by moss-bearing trees and the sighs of breezes, paradise in a mourning land. And the people of that estate were grateful, surprised they had such an angel watching over them. And she made sure the Cabal brothers would thrive.  
At least, for the time being.  
——  
Horst was a businessman. He traveled, and often. He had many crisp linen suits. He sold land. He sold land well outside his hometown, because no one would dare buy a plot of anything there, no sir, Crow’s Hollow was a dead and dry place, and you’d better not come near us if you’ve been there, boy, that land is cursed.  
Horst disliked his job. He lied too much. He would say he was from just outside New Orleans, that he caught crawfish on the weekends with his brother. His customers always beamed with pride at this southern gentleman, understanding with the fathers and tender with the daughters.  
Horst wouldn’t be caught dead around crawfish.  
He also wouldn’t be caught dead eyeing his brother’s fiancee. He’d soon be caught, alive and kicking, on the wraparound porch of the Cabal estate, staring at her like something lost, but ready to be found.  
——  
"Why don’t you buy her a peach, son?"  
Because it was summer in Crow’s Hollow, and sometimes a peach made the day a bit more bearable. Johannes took his father’s money, paid for the peach, and tapped her briefly on the shoulder. She took the emaciated fruit, as pale as her cheeks, as soft as her skin. She smiled cracked lips, adjusted her parasol, took a bite.  
It was not satisfying, because it was from a dying farm in Crow’s Hollow, where only the most desperate clinging fruit deign to survive. But it was kindness, and she appreciated kindness, especially from her good friend, Johannes Cabal.  
"Thank you kindly, Johannes."  
"My father paid for it, it was nothing, darling."  
She turned to the older man. “Thank you, Pastor Cabal.” He tipped his hat to her.  
"You and your daddy come on by for dinner tonight. We’re having cobbler with our peaches.”  
"I wouldn’t miss it for the world."  
And she only had eyes for Johannes, even as sweat beaded on his brow, and the dust clung to the edges of their clothes, and the peach lingered, sour in her gums.  
——  
"You’re back early." Johannes observed as Horst walked through the front door. He dusted off his suit, removed his hat, set down his briefcase.  
"The town I was selling to found out I was from here. There was no point in me staying." Horst replied with disdain, removing his jacket. He thanked the servant who brought him a glass of iced tea, hands leaving granules of dirt behind in the condensation. He sat beside his brother, glancing out the large bay windows to their acres of fruit trees.  
"Can’t you tell them about our land? That our land survived the droughts?” Johannes asked, wiping sweat from under the arch of his glasses, glancing at Horst.  
"I’ve tried. They all still think we’re cursed, that it just hasn’t reached us yet."  
"Even though we are the sole suppliers of agriculture within a ten-mile radius, have been for five years, since the droughts began."  
Horst raised his glass in surrender, sighing into it. The brothers sat in silence for a moment, listening to the house creak and moan. If they were quiet enough, paused their breathing, they could hear their father deep upstairs, practicing his sermons, or their mother, far outside, humming as she waters her plants.  
"We expecting company tonight? You’re more dressed up than usual."  
"Darling’s coming by with her father for supper." Johannes said, flushing from perhaps not the heat.  
"Do you have to call her that? She has a name, doesn’t she?"  
"Of course she does. But you know who I mean."  
Horst scoffed, finishing his tea and listening to the ice clink. “When are you two getting married then?”  
"In the fall, when things begin to get a little cooler, but before the pecan harvesting starts." Johannes stated like a mantra, practiced, precise.  
"You’re nervous."  
"No. I am ready."  
And that’s all the brothers spoke on the subject, but perhaps they should’ve sought more from each other, should’ve asked Johannes how he felt about the death of his dear friend, the 5-year anniversary of which fell within the week, or asked Horst how he felt about Darling wearing one of his ties around her sunhat for fashion, of course. Whatever do you think I’m implying? Or rather, Horst, what would you like me to imply?.  
——  
They met in church, as all children destined for each other do. Johannes kept Horst awake through one of their father’s sermons, the chapel too crowded to allow Horst an embarrassing snore. Johannes kept his eyes diligently on his father, until a trio walked in, just five minutes late, no reason to cause commotion.  
But how could Johannes keep his eyes off the sisters with the wild, flaming hair?  
Johannes’s father beckoned him over after the bells began to ring and the crowds filed out to enjoy their day in Crow’s Hollow. Horst trailed along, shook hands with the new members of the congregation.  
"Boys, I’d like you to meet the Barrow family. God has brought them to our town and to our church. You’d best respect them all, you hear?"  
And the Cabal brothers nodded in time as their father tousled their hair. Their eyes never wavered from the flame girls. They became inseparable—scraped knees at age seven, hands held at age seventeen—until God claimed one for his own.  
"You’re lucky it wasn’t one of you boys. That river takes children to our lord every summer. I’m just sorry it had to be one of your friends."  
But Johannes was upset with his father’s words, because they didn’t feel comforting. They felt fake and juvenile, because who was still a child at age seventeen?  
But he clammed up and closed down, just like Horst, just like they all did in that church.  
And you could feel the valley wilt outside the doors to her funeral.  
——  
"Aren’t you doing your brother’s chores?" She lobbed a rotten peach at his head. He ducked with a practiced ease.  
"He’s given up the farm. He left yesterday. ‘I’ll make it on my own!’ he says to my father, and slams the door. I have no idea where he is now." Johannes said, climbing down from the ladder. He tried to clean the dirt and peach juice from his hands before walking to her, but she came to him.  
"Horst has always been one to overreact. He’ll come home soon, don’t worry." She removed one of her gloves, wiping sweat and stray dust from Johannes’s forehead. He smirked briefly.  
"Why do you suppose I’m worried?"  
"He’s your brother. Even I’m worried, and my sister’s the one that’s taken a shine to him, not me.” She rolled her eyes, shoving the glove into the folds of her dress.  
"She has?"  
"Johannes, every girl has. He’s your brother, the classy southern gentleman you bring home to momma." She mocked, linking her arm with him as they strolled through the shade of the peach trees. He laughed out loud and she joined in.  
"If only they knew him."  
"Exactly," she sighed happily, plucking a peach from the tree and biting into it, letting the juices run down the sides of her mouth, "though my sister has still asked if you’d have the two of us over for dinner one night."  
"You two are welcome anytime, you know that." Johannes sounded surprised, looking down at her as she wiped the peach juices off her face with the back of her hand.  
"I know, but I feel like your daddy is always looking down on us," she lowered her voice, looking around conspiratorially, "like we’re not good enough. Or at least I’m not. I can’t speak for my precious sister."  
"That’s not the case, I swear. I swear on the whole orchard." She stopped their walking to move in front of him. She stared at his face, Johannes stared back.  
"You swear?"  
"I do. Though I’m sure he doesn’t like you distracting me from my work…" Johannes teased, not moving in time to miss her half-eaten peach. It hit him square on the jaw, and she was off and running, kicking up dust with her feet as she weaved through the peach trees. And Johannes ran after because, well, why not?  
——  
"You looked like a tomato in church today."  
"I have no idea what you mean, Horst."  
The elder Cabal laughed, listening to the rumble of far-away thunder, the call of a summer storm they would never taste. “When father announced your wedding date. You were as red and embarrassed as holy hell.”  
"I was happy."  
"Happy? Happy? God forbid I ever see you ‘embarrassed’ then.”  
Johannes stewed for a moment, let the night breeze rustle his hair. “Someone besides father has to be happy for me.”  
"Well, I’d certainly hope you are."  
"And I’d certainly expect you to be!”  
Horst stood abruptly, the wicker chair scooting backwards from the force. “You cannot expect that from me.” His voice was still. He took two steps, leaned against the porch railing, felt his brother’s eyes on the back of his neck.  
"Why aren’t you happy for me, Horst?"  
It was like hefting a loaded gun against his temple. The elder Cabal dare not answer.  
——  
It could be boiled down to selfishness, because nearly everything human can be. And he wanted her, of course he wanted her. But there was a bond, blood is thicker than water, and there was a guilt, God knows all, and there was a mistake on the porch that no one should’ve seen.  
But at least Horst was the only one hurt. Johannes never found out about the darkness that had touched his soul. And his mother spoke, and his father spoke and his little brother spoke over his closed casket. And it was carried to the cemetery. And it was buried at dusk.  
And the crowd of mourners swore they heard thunder closer than ever.  
——  
He passed her notes during church, up until the day he left to work. He would tear pages from a journal, write them like he was diligently writing his father’s words. Then he’d pass it down the row to her, typically through her sister and Johannes. The two younger siblings didn’t mind Horst’s scheming; they were often caught thumb wrestling.  
But Horst remained a paragon of respect, because that is what she expected. As they grew out of all their clothes and wounds rubbed with dirt and summers spent in the river, Horst observed. Because he was born a pastor’s son, a wealthy southern farm boy, but he learned fast he could make himself into whatever she pleased. What pleased her pleased him, and so he bought suits to wear outside of Sunday. He bought a sleek car to take her to the city. He spent more time walking slow, because it didn’t feel unnatural with her on his arm.  
"Our siblings are going to be married, aren’t they?" she asked one evening after an event in the city, walking along the river, Horst’s suit jacket draped over her shoulders against the winter chill. He looked over at her, with only the wryest of smiles.  
"The two of those ragtag kids, getting married? I cannot picture Johannes in any semblance of domesticity."  
"I don’t mean right now, they’re still young. I mean in the future. I think it could be lovely." She pinched his arm and he chuckled.  
"They do seem cut from the same cloth, even if that cloth is covered in dirt and peach juice." Horst remarked, taking her arm from his and giving her a twirl.  
"We used to be the same way, don’t pretend you’ve always been this clean and charming." She moved closer to him, placed a hand in his and the other on his upper arm. They began to dance, slow and simple and to the beat of the far-off music from the event.  
"I suppose you’re right," He deliberated for a moment, dipping her until a smile graced her cheeks, "Do you miss those days?"  
"Sometimes. But if I ever have a hankering to return, I can just run through the orchard with you."  
"Would you like to tonight? The trees are bare, and with the moon this full, they will cast only the most haunting shadows." Horst said with faux-menace in her ear. She smiled.  
"You’ll never catch me." And she took off running towards the car, the suit jacket blowing off her shoulders, Horst leaving it behind.  
She was right. He never did. Johannes had always been the faster runner.  
——  
"Johannes."  
She was as pretty as a picture, and he nearly fell off his ladder, the shock her face gave his heart. The sisters had always looked too similar.  
"What can I do for you today, Miss Barrow?" He continued pulling ripe peaches from the boughs, unable to look at her for more than short amounts of time.  
"Were you going to ask my sister to marry you?"  
"You don’t waste any time, do you?" he muttered, landing on the ground in one step, hefting his ladder and moving to the next tree, away from her.  
"Answer my question!" she shouted. He didn’t. The peach she threw hit him hard in the back.  
He turned. He was amused or angry or surprised to notice them both crying.  
It had only been a week since her sister—their friend’s—death. He wrapped his arms around her. He whispered a solemn ‘yes’, and that made it truer than ever before. Her tears stained his clothes worse than the peach she had thrown.  
They never lied to each other again. At least, they tried not to. Johannes said ‘yes’ when she excitedly asked if he liked the suits she picked out for him. She said ‘no’ when he teasingly asked if she thought Horst was handsome.  
They had been friends for years, years before the drought began, years before her sister’s death. It was that simple familiarity that led to them falling in love. It was easy. It was expected. It was what they wanted, to an extent. It was enough, which is all she and Johannes ever thought they would get.  
——  
"Drink waters out of thine own cistern, and running waters out of thine own well. Let thy fountains be dispersed abroad, and rivers of waters in the streets. Let them be only thine own, and not strangers’ with thee. Let thy fountain be blessed: and rejoice with the wife of thy youth. And why wilt thou, my son, be ravished with a strange woman, and embrace the bosom of a stranger? For the ways of man are before the eyes of the Lord, and he pondereth all his goings. His own iniquities shall take the wicked himself, and he shall be holden with the cords of his sins. He shall die without instruction; and in the greatness of his folly he shall go astray. Amen.”  
——  
He was certain it would rain that night. He would’ve bet his life on it.  
"Are you cold?" He asked from the doorway, trying not to stare at her silhouette against the moon. She shook her head, leaning against the porch rail. She didn’t turn, so he leaned against the rail beside her, enjoying the breeze, enjoying the escape from the bustling dinner table, enjoying her company, though he’d deny that fact if you asked. He told himself he was enjoying the fat full moon instead.  
"It was just so crowded in there, everyone’s making such a fuss." she said as if she needed an excuse. Horst chuckled through his nose.  
"Why do you think I’m out here?"  
They both laughed then, as fireflies began to dot the yard. They watched for a long while, before he touched her hand. “Are you ready to be married?”  
"I have been. For a long while, really. It’s not a matter of being ready." She didn’t look at him, and he wished she would.  
"What is it? You’ve seemed tense all evening."  
She didn’t move her hand, didn’t move at all, really. “Your brother means worlds to me.”  
Horst wasn’t sure what to do. So he nodded once. “Yes.”  
"But not the world.”  
And he finally caught her eyes, lips, heart.  
And a shadow looked down from the second-story window.  
——  
"Your father’s going to murder me!" she shouted over the storm, running through the mud of the orchard at full tilt. Johannes followed just behind, smiling like a fool.  
"Nonsense. So you’ll be muddy for dinner. My mother will hand you a towel and that will be that."  
"But I will be sat next to my sister and she will look impeccable and I-"  
"Will look beautiful as ever," He grabbed her hand, halting their run. Rain dripped down their faces, "What’s wrong? You’ve never worried about a little dirt or rain before."  
"I just want to make a good impression. Your father never looks at me like he looks at my sister." She couldn’t meet his eyes, hair wet and flat against her back. He tilted her chin up with a finger.  
"I’ll go to dinner like this. Will that make you more comfortable?"  
She stared at his matted hair, his mud-streaked face, his torn shirt and overalls. She hazarded to say he looked sillier than her. “You will?”  
"Yes. And mind you, my mother will think I’m ludicrous and my brother will be dressed impeccably but I want their impression of you to be the same as their impression of me."  
"Why?" She gaped at him and he laughed, and he kissed her quickly, simply, easily on the lips.  
"Because I don’t want you to stop throwing peaches at me anytime soon."  
She was the one who took Johannes’s hand and ran back to the house. She was the one who opened the front door and greeted the family first. She was the one. And Johannes glowed over dinner, rainwater sliding down his neck and arms even during the last course of peach cobbler.  
——  
She left, even though he stared out the window for hours, certain it was going to rain. She left, because he remained where he was, wearing less black than her, a week after his brother’s death. She left, and mistakes are easy to make, especially if they involve a brother with a big heart.  
She left. She took Horst’s car, because he left it behind for her. She went to the city, to a place a little less broken down, hoping to repair herself.  
Johannes went to church that day. Hardly anyone was in the congregation or at least, he couldn’t see anyone because the Barrows were gone, two buried, one kicking up dust on the road out of town.  
He found her ring on his ladder when he began work in the orchard the next day. He pocketed it, and still couldn’t believe it hadn’t rained, the thunder had been so loud.  
——  
"You, dear brother, have something to prove."  
"I have no idea what you mean." But Johannes was grinning from ear to pinker ear, drying his hair after a proper bath. Horst laughed, tossed him a shirt.  
"What the hell was that dinner about!? It was brilliant, but I think father’s furious."  
"Good. He better get used to it. We’re not changing for him or anyone."  
”We’re?” Horst remarked, sitting on the edge of his bed. Johannes looked at him, put his glasses back on, took a breath.  
"Yes. I’m in love with her, Horst."  
And as the brothers fell asleep to firefly light and summer breezes, it was not what Johannes said that surprised Horst to the bone. It was his boldness. It was his assured tone. It was his inspiring actions that made Horst ready to fall in love too.  
——  
It was all part of God’s eternal plan. That’s what he would tell them. Because it was the truth. He had discussed it with God. God needed them to die. Pastor Cabal had no idea God would send a crippling drought through Crow’s Hollow after the Barrow girl’s death. But, he realized during his sermon the Sunday after her funeral, everyone has to make sacrifices. Even pastors.  
Horst was physically easier to drown than Leonie. Leonie fought. Pastor Cabal was surprised his own son did not hit or kick or scream his oxygen away. No, Horst was still. He held his father’s hands gently, held the hands that kept him under the current. Pastor Cabal wondered when his son had given up, and he considered giving up then too.  
But God was watching. God would be disappointed. So he finished drowning his son alive, just like he had done with Leonie Barrow years prior, because Leonie had not been the proper match for Johannes, and Horst was going to ruin the marriage God intended.  
He said a prayer as the body floated down the river. He let his hands drip dry on the walk home.  
And then the orchard grew diseased. And then the only healthy farm remaining in Crow’s Hollow crumbled. And Pastor Cabal was devastated. How could God do this to him?  
He fell down the stairs, nothing more than that. Johannes was the only one left in the town to bury him. And he did, because he loved his father. His father was a good man.  
He took him to the empty orchard. He dug the grave for hours. He covered it with prayer and the dirt that never could get out of his clothes.  
And there was thunder, louder than the day of Horst’s funeral, louder than the day he confessed his love for Leonie Barrow, louder than the day she left.  
Johannes was certain the first drops of rain were peach juice.


End file.
